


The Perfect Gift

by pagan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: EWE, F/M, Humour, Romance, UST, post—hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-23 18:48:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/625425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pagan/pseuds/pagan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the search for the perfect Christmas gift, Hermione and Draco find themselves trapped together in a magical snow-globe. However will they get out?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Perfect Gift

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Only the plot is mine.  
> Author's Notes: A massive thank you to dormiensa for being a wonderful friend and beta. And to rumaan--thank you for your words of encouragement and for agreeing to britpick this one.  
> Written for the Granger Enchanted Christmas Prompt Table Challenge 2012.  
> The prompts: Winter Wonderland and Beach

**_On the eve of Christmas Eve_ **

**_Diagon Alley_ **

 

Hermione squinted, blinking her eyes in an effort to adjust to the dimly-lit interior of the shop she’d just entered. The door swung shut behind her with a quiet creak, cutting off the pale wintry morning sunshine.

 

There were no windows in the shop and the only light illuminating the place seemed to be coming from the gently crackling flames in the fireplace on the wall to her left and from two matching candelabras floating in the air slightly to her right. The shop was silent—no chattering customers, no greetings from the owner, not even the _squeak_ of a mouse—and seemed devoid of any magical being, save for herself.

 

Walking further in, she noticed the shop was crowded with shelves crammed full of knick-knacks and bric-a-brac. One of the candelabras floated to hover over her shoulder as she stopped by the nearest shelf, the light from its candles casting a warm, orange-yellow glow over everything. The shelf contained what looked like children’s toys: a box of tin soldiers, several old-fashioned gollywogs, a figurine of a house-elf, and what looked like a tiny wooden carousel with brightly painted wooden horses. Stepping closer to admire the intricate woodwork, she gently touched the nose of one of the horses. It neighed softly, much to her surprise. With a soft exclamation of pleasure, she brushed the tip of her finger across the hind leg of another horse, causing it to snort and stamp its hooves.

 

Enchanted by the magical carousel, Hermione moved on to the next shelf, eager to see what else the mysterious little shop had to offer. She’d never stepped into the shop prior to this;  it was the owner of an unprepossessing front door set in a short, squat building that seemed almost folded upon itself, situated as it was tucked between the more prosperous-looking Eeylops Owl Emporium and Potage’s Cauldron Shop. Even the sign on its door—barely visible beneath what looked like centuries of grime and dust, hand-lettered and faded—did not invite visitors. She’d always bypassed it on her way to either the bookshop or the Leaky Cauldron.

 

But not today: desperate times had called for desperate measures. With only two days to go before Harry’s Christmas party, Hermione was at her wits’ end. Having visited almost every shop wizarding London had to offer, she’d still not managed a gift for Luna. It was the same thing every year: Luna was always the hardest to shop for. She especially wanted to make an extra effort for Luna, who always seemed to know what to get Hermione. It was usually an object that Hermione would never buy for herself, but somehow, every year, Luna’s gifts always turned out very useful and just what Hermione needed.

 

Like that time she got Hermione a butterbeer-cork necklace; it turned out that was just the thing needed to set Malfoy’s house-elf free.  Of course, it was an unintentional act on Hermione’s part—she’d been about to toss it away in the bin but it had landed on Tinky’s head instead, the house-elf having popped into their office for some reason or other—but a house-elf set free, no matter the circumstance, was a big achievement for S.P.E.W.

 

Malfoy had been rather cross about the whole debacle and, for an entire week, had sent Howlers in lieu of memos whenever he had to communicate with her. Seeing as they were both assigned to the same department and that their duties overlapped more often than not, it made for a very noisy week in the International Magical Office of Law.

 

Fortunately, he had stopped once she’d set a bottomless bowl of sweets on his desk—again, a Christmas gift from Luna. Being the daughter of two dentists, Hermione did not possess a sweet tooth and had never fully utilised the gift. Until then.

 

Or that time Luna gave Hermione _Raoul_ : a magical vibrator that could transform into whatever sexual toy she wished. She’d been embarrassed by the gift, pretty certain her sex life with Ron was more than adequate. But not three months later, they’d broken up, and _Raoul_ turned out to be a pretty fantastic substitute. The things _Raoul_ could do—Hermione blushed just thinking about it.

 

Luna definitely had a knack for getting Hermione great gifts.  And so, she had decided to give the old shop a go. And she was finding so many exciting things in it.

 

The next shelf boasted a colourful collection of beautiful Turkish lamps that made her think of incense, belly dancers, and all manner of exotic things; yet another shelf contained several antique Chinese tea sets, complete with packets of tea with fantastic names like Dragon’s Well, Gunpowder, and Moroccan Nights.

 

But what caught Hermione’s attention were the snow globes.  Placed on a shelf near the back of the shop, the snow globes came in a myriad of sizes and showcased different scenes.

 

It was with barely-concealed excitement that she hurried towards them. For some reason, Hermione had always associated snow globes with holidays: it was the kind of memento she would have bought for herself if she had been anywhere memorable. She was feeling rather certain that her friend would enjoy the whimsical nature of a snow globe.

 

_Now, I just need to find the right one. Something that will appeal to Luna’s quirky nature yet befits the Christmas theme._

 

She surveyed the options: there was a rather big globe with a nomad riding a camel across the sands, circling an oasis of palm and date trees; and another showcasing a stretch of beach, a cabana with an _attap_ roof, a brightly coloured umbrella, and a bikini-clad, nubile young woman lying on a beach chair.

 

Reaching past the latter, she carefully picked up the bigger globe. The rider and his camel both made a moue of disgust each when she started shaking the globe. A sand storm appeared, engulfing both man and beast. With a whispered “ _Oops, sorry_ ” and a barely suppressed laugh, Hermione set the globe down before picking up another one with a landscape of building rooftops and chimneys under a night sky. A tiny witch with a black, pointed hat and long, black robes—with a décolletage that showcased what Hermione would politely term “a generous bosom”—was zooming around on a broomstick, flashing her ankles at Hermione as soon as she peered closely at it.

 

 _Cheeky little thing_ , Hermione thought in amusement.

 

And then she saw it: the perfect gift for Luna. It was a lovely scene of a quaint little cottage, its roof covered in white amidst a background of pine trees, their branches heavy with snow. A rotund little snowman with a black top hat and a red scarf stood in the tiny yard. A twinkling star shone down on the entire landscape: a perfect winter wonderland scene.

 

Carefully setting down the night-scene globe, she bent towards what she knew to be _the_ present for Luna just as a pair of hands encased in dark brown leather gloves reached out and picked it up.

 

Hermione’s head snapped up to see Luna’s perfect gift cradled in the arms of Draco Malfoy.

 

*

 

Draco realised two things the moment he stepped into _Kelterment’s Snickets and Snippets_ : he hadn’t set foot inside the store since he was a schoolboy and, despite the passage of time, nothing had changed. The shop’s shabby exterior still housed the most amazing array of things one could find and old Mister Kelterment always had the uncanny knack of being able to lead anyone who crossed the shop’s threshold toward the perfect gift. One might say it was almost magical. Draco sniggered at his own joke.

 

Mister Kelterment was nowhere to be seen at the moment, though. The place was surprisingly empty. He shrugged and closed the door behind him; the old shopkeeper would show up sooner or later. Whether it was the charms placed in the shop or just instinctive reaction, Draco walked briskly past the shelves of Chinese tea pots, heading towards the end of the shop. Being in a bit of a hurry, he squeezed past two shelves crammed with old, leather tomes boasting titles such as _Poor Richard’s Almanac_ (Draco always wondered if it was a chronicle of the life of a pauper or if the author was indeed a poor man), _The Adventures of Master Headstrong and Miss Patient_ (again, something Draco was sure would only appeal to a sap like Longbottom or the Weasel—no, wait, to Weasley, the sports section in the _Daily Prophet_ signified quality reading material), and the _Kitab Al-Sihr_. Draco made a mental note to check out that particular codex once he’d managed to find what he’d come in search of: a Christmas present.

 

There, leaning against the wall, was the shelf full of water-globes that he’d remembered gazing at with delight in his boyhood.

 

 _The right present’s here,_ he thought to himself, striding forwards, his gaze suddenly locked on a medium-sized snow globe of a tiny, crooked cottage with a fat, jovial-looking little snowman in front. _Perfect._

 

His keen senses picked out movement along his peripheral line of sight: another person was standing just in front of and a little to Draco’s right.  _Another customer_ , he thought absently, dismissing the man (or woman? It was hard to tell from the back, as he/she was wrapped up in a shapeless, maroon-coloured woollen jacket with a matching cap and a bright purple scarf wound several times round his/her neck) as he zeroed in on the object of his focus.

 

He reached forward and picked it up, intending to shake it and see what happened. Would the snowman run into the house? Or shake its twiggy fingers at him in anger? He hoped it would show him the two-fingered salute. Not that it mattered; this was _the_ present and he was going to purchase it.

 

“Excuse me,” a familiar voice said, “but I believe I saw that snow-globe first.”

 

Only one person could have uttered those words with that hint of competitiveness and self-righteousness. And only one person could have sent his nerve-ends tingling with the anticipation of the start of a good bout of wordplay, albeit with the possible side-effect of actual bodily harm being done to his person. It was addictive and exhilarating, trying to push Granger’s buttons and then attempting to escape with all his body parts intact.

 

Their exchanges were always the highlight of his day, and he very much believed it served as hers as well. Three years of working together had brought them close to being friends, but there was a certain _something_ in their interactions—a spark of electricity or chemistry whenever they touched each other or caught the other staring—that somehow stopped them from crossing into the realm of friendship. Neither he nor Granger would admit to it, though.

 

In the meantime, it was a constant source of amusement for him to distract and provoke her.

 

At that moment, if Draco could have rubbed his hands together in glee, he would have. As it was, he had to satisfy himself with putting on his haughtiest look before turning to face his colleague.

 

Looking up at the frowning face of Hermione Granger, he said, “Well, good morning to you. too, Granger.” Her cheeks flushed with colour. _A hit!_ he thought gleefully.  Not waiting for a response, he asked, “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

 

“Malfoy, I don’t know what you’re up to, but I intend on buying that globe.”

 

Merlin, she sounded so prissy and uppity. Tightening his hold on the globe, Draco felt the all-too-familiar urge to annoy Granger coursing through his veins.  He retorted, “No, _I_ am. It’s a present for Greg.”

 

“Goyle?” Surprise now coloured her tone, along with a good dollop of scepticism. She frowned at him. “I don’t believe you,” she said baldly, then winced, as if realising what she’d said was rude.

 

Draco favoured her with a shrug. She responded with the patented Granger-scowl: brows lowered, nose scrunched, and lips pursed. She reminded him of McGonagall in a snit. Purposely running a hand over the curve of the globe possessively, he bent towards her, as if imparting a secret, and murmured, “The man collects snow-globes. What can I say?”

 

Granger’s eyes seemed to darken with some unnamed emotion at his nearness and he heard her take a deep breath before she responded in the manner he’d expected. “Well, get him the one with the tarty witch!”  she exclaimed, taking a step back. She turned to the shelf and grabbed the globe in question and started to shove it at him. The tiny witch inside the globe flew right up to the glass and wiggled her bum enticingly at him before zooming off again.

 

Draco raised his brows, looking intrigued, but then shook his head mournfully. “Tempting, Granger, but no. He likes snowmen.”

 

Granger’s face turned red at that, and he could see her wand hand twitch. Draco had come to the realisation that he was an adrenaline junkie when it came to Granger.

 

Or, perhaps, a _Granger_ junkie.

 

*

Hermione would like to say that what happened next was wholly Malfoy’s fault.  He always seemed to bring out something _uncontrollable_ in her, what with his sarcastic remarks and that smirk twisting his handsome—never mind! If he hadn’t goaded her, then she wouldn’t have lost her temper, wouldn’t have given in to that feeling of excitement that surged through her whenever they butted heads (that feeling of one-upmanship and thrilling anticipation that always seemed to go hand-in-hand when exchanging words with Malfoy), and most certainly wouldn’t have done the most childish thing ever: grabbing at the globe, trying to wrench it free from Malfoy’s grasping fingers.

 

“Let go, Malfoy! I saw it first!”

 

“Excuse me? _I_ saw it first. And I picked it up while you were still admiring the sheikh and his camel.” He nodded to the shelf behind her. The camel chose that very moment to pee in the sand.

 

_Ewww!_

 

“Checking out the goods, eh?” Malfoy chuckled. “Fancied a _ride_ , did you?” He leered at her then yanked the globe back, causing Hermione to stumble into him.

 

Hermione’s face turned even redder at his ridiculous insinuation. “Malfoy! Of all the disgusting, perverted—”

 

“Oh, please. Don’t say you didn’t—”

 

“—you miserable excuse for a—”

 

“—I mean, a camel, Granger? Rather ambitious of you—”

 

“—report you to the RSPCA for even thinking—”

 

“—to get laid as you’re obviously a repressed—Ouch! Damn it, woman! That’s my toe!” He swung around clumsily as she lifted her heavily-booted right foot off his dragon-hide boots.

 

Hermione flashed Malfoy a feral grin as her fingers found purchase at the base of the globe. She tugged with all her might, feeling Malfoy’s death-grip on the glass slipping as he hopped around like a demented rabbit on too much codeine.

 

“I have plenty of sex, thank you very much,” she bit off, thinking of _Raoul_. So what if he was a toy? She got orgasms off him more often than she did with Ron. That had to count for something! She gave an almighty tug, certain it was strong enough to dislodge Malfoy’s strong grip on the globe. “I don’t need—”

 

“Oh, please,” he interrupted, somehow managing to elbow her and still maintain a firm grip on the globe. “All this animosity and antagonistic behaviour proves it. It’s bloody obvious: you’re sexually frustrated!” he exclaimed as he tried to loosen her grip by wriggling the globe. The snow inside started to swirl.

 

She sputtered. “Why, you—I’m only antagonistic towards you, and that’s because you’re—”

 

“Highly attractive and you find me desirable?” he quipped, suddenly crowding her, his body pressing her against the shelves. She could smell him: a sharp, clean scent with a hint of leather and something citrusy.

 

Her eyes widened and she gaped at him. His face twisted into something akin to triumph and she hastily gathered her thoughts. Damn the man for distracting her with his body— _words_! She growled. “I didn’t know _I_ was what you wished for this Christmas, Malfoy,” she said mockingly as she tried to kick him and tug at the globe at the same time.

 

In a manoeuvre that shocked her, Malfoy wrapped his hands around hers in an attempt to pull the globe towards his torso, his lips next to her ear as he gave a short bark of laughter.

 

“Oh, yes, Granger.” He grinned. “Just you, all tied up in a red silk bow under my Christmas tree,” he whispered suggestively as he tugged harder.

 

Hermione blushed.

 

The snow started to swirl fiercely and the snow-globe felt cold to the touch, even through her mittens.

 

A sudden thought struck Hermione. “I think you should let go, Malfoy,” she said uneasily.

 

“What, giving up so easily, Granger? Some truth to what I’ve been saying, hmm?” He pressed even closer to her, obviously attempting to dominate her with his superior physical strength.

 

Hermione shook her head. “Malfoy, let go of the globe.”

 

“No, you let go.”

 

She shot him an exasperated look. “Malfoy—”

 

Malfoy, as usual, paid no attention to her and obviously didn’t let go.  The next thing she knew, the room was spinning around her in an awful, stomach-churning way—rather like being tumbled in the washing machine—and after what felt like ages, she landed hard on the ground.

 

*

 

Draco stood up slowly, tamping down the dizziness he was experiencing due to that nauseating trip from the shop to Merlin-knows-where. A low moan sounded beside him and he glanced at Granger as she pushed herself off the ground into a sitting position. She seemed to have misplaced her hat somewhere between Kelterment’s and wherever it was they currently were, for her bushy hair was reminiscent of a failed potions experiment: an explosion of messy, long brown strands of curls and kinks and snarls.

 

Draco looked around. It seemed they were inside a house—more a cottage, really. It was small, with an unlit fireplace and a bright yellow sofa in what was obviously the living room. A Christmas tree heavily decorated with fairy-lights and tinsel stood next to the sofa. A doorway led off to what looked like a small kitchen. There was another door—shut—leading to what he presumed to be the bedroom. Two windows flanking the front door showed that it was dark as night outside and snowing heavily.

 

He tried to Disapparate; it didn’t work. A nervous feeling took hold in the pit of his stomach. He glanced around and noticed that the snow globe was missing. Ignoring Granger’s feeble attempts to stand up, he strode to one of the windows and confirmed his suspicions: a fat snowman with skinny twiggy arms, black top hat, and red scarf was standing outside. He opened the front door, only to shut it promptly: it looked like a massive snowstorm was in progress outside.

 

He walked back to Granger and hauled her up. “You got us stuck in the bloody snow globe, Granger.”

 

She looked up at him groggily. “What?”

 

“I said, you got us—”

 

“I heard you the first time, Malfoy,” she interrupted, pushing him lightly. He took the hint and released her arms. “How can you be sure?” she asked, trying to pat her hair into some semblance of order.

 

Draco mentally shook his head at the futility of that exercise and explained what he saw outside. And about how he couldn’t Disapparate.

 

Granger blanched as she digested what he’d said. She drew out her wand, presumably to try it out for herself.

 

It was growing colder by the minute and he walked to the fireplace. There was a small pile of logs neatly arranged inside which he tried but failed to light with his wand. The mantelpiece above was bare of any matches or kindling or anything that would help in starting a fire. He swore softly.

 

“I told you to let go of the globe.” He heard Hermione grumble as he tried to cast warming charm on himself. No go, either. _Fuck_. He had a bad feeling about the whole place.

 

“But, as usual, you didn’t listen,’ Granger continued as she stomped up to him, rubbing her hands together.

 

He bristled. It was colder than a witch’s tit in here and he did not appreciate her blaming him for their predicament. “Well, you shouldn’t have tried to grab it in the first place. And what’s more, you shouldn’t have made that wish,” he retorted.

 

She stopped mid-stomp. “What wish? I didn’t make any wishes.” Her eyes narrowed at him. “All I said was that _you_ wished—and—and—” she stumbled in her speech, “and you agreed,” she finished triumphantly, her forefinger poking into his chest to emphasise her point.

 

He batted at her hand. “Well, _you_ should have comprehended the far-reaching consequences of your actions! Trying to grab the snow globe, just like a child. I told you to leave it well enough alone, but no. To even think that—no, wait, you don’t think, do you?” he asked sarcastically.

 

“How dare you insinuate—”

 

“The brightest witch of our age, indeed,” Draco interjected contemptuously. “You should rename _spew_ to _sod it_.”

 

“For the umpteenth time, it’s S.P.E.W.: Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare, not _spew_ ,” Hermione said haughtily. “And what is ‘ _sod it’_ supposed to stand for?” she asked, her eyes narrowing dangerously.

 

“The Society of Dangerous, Idiotic Twits, of which you seem to be the lifetime president,” he returned smartly. He arched one blond brow imperiously. “Just my luck that I’m stuck with you in this freezing excuse of a house instead of somewhere warm.  Like that globe with the beach and the half-naked woman inside.”

 

Granger was visibly fighting the urge to smack his face. He could tell by the sudden pugnacious tilt to her jaw. _Granger-junkie, indeed._

 

“ _I_ wasn’t that lucky,” she shot back as she pushed him aside and squatted down next to the fireplace, poking at the pile of logs with her wand.

 

“I’ve already tried that,” he said testily.

 

She stood up without a word and walked into the kitchen. He heard her rummaging around before emerging with a small box of matches in her hand and a smirk on her face. “You should have tried harder,” she said as she shouldered him aside to get to the fireplace. He resisted the compulsion to grab her and—and— _Argh!_ He didn’t know what he would have done if he had grabbed her. _Either strangle her or snog her senseless_ , he thought grimly. She probably would have unmanned him either way, the little she-devil.

 

He wasn’t sure if he was irritated or relieved when she got a fire started within seconds.

 

*

 

They had been stuck in the snow globe for what felt like hours, though Malfoy had been quick to point out it was only a little past an hour, with an exaggerated look at his watch.

 

That time had been taken up by the both of them trying to cast spells—anything that would have helped them leave the cottage. It had just ended with the two of them fighting again. It was an unsatisfactory fight—no hexes could be thrown, after all. Nothing magical seemed to work, save for what was already provided for in the cottage. Hermione was sure the fire was magical—there weren’t that many logs, and yet the fire blazed on cheerily.  A good thing too—it was horribly cold and she did not relish the thought of snuggling up to Malfoy, tempting though it was. He looked warm and masculine and oh-so-enticing. She blamed it on too much whiskey on an empty stomach—the bottle of _Glenlivet_ , the only edible and/or drinkable substance discovered in the kitchen, sat innocuously between them, grudgingly shared to help ward off the cold—and the fact that their fight had only served to remind Hermione of what Malfoy had said earlier about wanting her as his Christmas present. She was certain he’d only meant to mock her, but that didn’t stop her mind from going down roads she shouldn’t have any business travelling, especially not with Malfoy and what he would do with red silk ribbons.

 

It didn’t help that he’d more often than not starred in her sexual fantasies ever since they’d started working together. Damn the man for always looking so neat and tidy and smelling so good, and double-damn for all that sexual chemistry between them. Propinquity was an awful, awful thing: it made co-workers with even a semblance of intelligence look downright sexually appealing. She mentally made a note to have a session with _Raoul_ as soon as she got out.

 

They had both taken seats at opposite ends of the sofa. In reality, a mere foot separated them. It was a small, two-seater, after all, and the sexual tension in the room felt like a tangible, breathing thing. She felt fidgety and uncomfortable, sure that whatever was slowly building up between them would explode, sooner or later.

Malfoy gave a quiet, satisfied burp after swallowing a mouthful of the whiskey.

 

Or maybe it was just her.

 

“Reminds me of Budapest,” she said suddenly, desperate to breach the silence, burp notwithstanding.

 

*

 

“Excuse me?” Draco wasn’t sure if he’d heard her correctly. He stared. “In what way?” he asked faintly.

 

“You know, all this sitting around, doing nothing, waiting for something to happen. It reminds me of Budapest. Surely you remember?”

 

Of course he remembered.

 

Budapest, last Christmas, had been a horror story: he’d been half-hard the entire time, forced to share a suite of rooms with Granger, who’d thought nothing of sashaying around in her starched, white, fitted shirts tucked primly into knee-length pencil-skirts, with her reading glasses perched on her pert little nose. All right, so they were there for meetings with their Hungarian counterparts and she did have to dress professionally, but did she have to look like a sexy librarian the entire time? She’d mumbled something about having forgotten her contact lenses, but the black, plastic-rimmed, cat-eye glasses had been the missing component that had transformed her from a bookish, know-it-all swot to a hot, sexy intellectual.

 

They had sat and waited for the Hungarians to revert on the proposals the Ministry had made. Because of the sensitivity of the issues concerned, they hadn’t dared moved a muscle until they’d had a response. They had just waited in the hotel, with nothing to divert their attention.

 

Well, that wasn’t exactly true… as _he’d_ been fantasising about sexy-librarian Granger and what punishments she would have doled out if he’d been late in returning a book. That made for a very entertaining way to pass the time.

 

He chanced a glance at her, now; she was twisting her fingers in her lap. He thought of those fingers running up and down his cock and shuddered. Okay, so maybe it was very similar circumstances for him, but she definitely didn’t need to know why. “You and I have very different memories of Budapest,” he said dryly, shifting unobtrusively so as to hide the effect memory-Granger was having on his nether parts. He threw a disapproving glance at the bottle of whiskey. This was what you got with the cheap stuff: it made you think strange and impossible things.  Now, _Ogden’s_ —

 

“Cold?” she asked solicitously, interrupting his train of thought.

 

“Not if you warm me up, sexy librarian,” he quipped, before realising what he’d let slip. _Fuck, fuckety fuck!_ Draco thought frantically. _Did the words ‘_ sexy librarian’ _just come out of my mouth?_

 

Granger turned five different shades of red before she choked out a breathless, “What?”

 

Unsure of what he’d actually let loose— _bloody Glenlivet!_ —Draco replied as nonchalantly as he could, ignoring the sudden nervousness gripping his insides. “I said, are you volunteering to warm me up?” He wiggled his eyebrows for better effect, hoping to side-track Granger.

 

She pursed her lips, ready to retort with something scathing, no doubt. Perhaps he’d been mistaken. His muscles unclenched. Wretched Muggle whiskey was playing tricks with his mind.

 

“You think I look like a sexy librarian?” She sounded bemused.

 

_Fuck._

 

*

 

 

“You must have been mistaken, Granger,” Malfoy said loftily. The effect would have been better if he had not sported what looked like the beginnings of a blush at her question.

 

Hermione watched with interest as the colour bloomed on Malfoy’s pale cheeks, making him look younger than his twenty-seven years.

 

She shook her head slowly, looking at him keenly as if he were a puzzle she had to solve. “No, I don’t think so. I distinctly heard you say that. If I deduce correctly, you must have been thinking about that time in Budapest.”  She felt the puzzle pieces slowing coming together. “Similar situation: nothing vaguely exciting about it. And unless you find Hungarian men sexy and they somehow remind you of librarians, you must have meant me,” she said quietly, her own face heating up.

 

She ignored him when he rolled his eyes, though she noted he fidgeted.

 

“Granger—”

 

“Now,” she said, purposely interrupting him, “the only thing different about me then and now are my clothes.” She cocked her head to one side, ignoring Malfoy’s snort. He was trying to distract her. _Sneaky Slytherin._ “I wore what I always wear at the office, but I forgot my contacts that trip. I had to wear my glasses the entire time… My… glasses?” She looked at him in disbelief. “You’re turned on by my glasses?”

 

He growled. “Granger—” he tried to say again, but she waved him off.

 

“Am I to understand you that find my glasses sexy?” she asked, incredulous. “I mean, I’ve always thought they were a nice touch, rather retro-looking. You know, Marilyn Monroe wore them in _How to Marry a Millionaire_ —well, not the same pair of course, but something simi—”

 

“Granger, you’re babbling,” he cut in harshly.

 

“I was, wasn’t I?”

 

He looked uncomfortable, as if she’d uncovered some dark, hidden secret of his—well, technically, she had. _She_ felt nervous and excited all at the same time.

 

He nodded and then sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “I find _you_ in glasses sexy,” he muttered, “not your glasses, per se.”

 

“Oh.” _Oh._ “What does that mean, exactly, Malfoy?”

 

She received his haughtiest look in response. “What do you _think_ , Granger?”

 

 _Oh!_ “Well, you don’t have to be so sarcastic.” She huffed, though her insides were turning little cartwheels of joy. Who would have thought Malfoy found her sexy?“And when I’m not in my glasses?”

 

He stared at her. “What?”

 

She bit back the grin that threatened to split her face. She felt, quite honestly, as if she had the upper hand in this situation and that prompted her to tease Malfoy. In a serious tone, she repeated herself, “What about when I’m not wearing glasses?  Do you still— _oh_!”

 

In a move so sudden that Hermione could have sworn she felt the air whizz past her, Malfoy had her arms pinned to her sides as he loomed above her.

 

“You _are_ a tease,” he said with a groan, right before he kissed her.

 

*

 

“Do you think that you acknowledging you fancy me will break whatever spell or charm that sucked us in here?” Draco asked several minutes—and quite a few snogs—later.

 

Hermione raised her eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?” she asked huffily. “I believe it was you”—she poked him in the chest—“who professed to have a _tendre_ for me.”

 

Draco waved his hand, enjoying the sight of Granger turning slightly irate. “Semantics.” He plucked her finger from his chest and wrapped her hand in his. “I fancy you and you obviously fancy me, judging by your response to my kisses just now.”

 

Granger rolled her eyes, though she did not deny it. He gave her his best smirk.

 

She hesitated and then frowned. “If that’s what was needed, we would have been free to Dispparate out. I still can’t.”

 

He hummed in response. “Well, perhaps something more is needed.” He raised his eyebrows at her. “You know, my express wish was that I’d have _you_ for Christmas all tied up in a red silk bow and nothing else.”

 

“Don’t even go there, Malfoy,” she chastised him, though he could see her sporting a small grin.

 

“Well, who’s to say that you naked, save for a big red bow, won’t get us out of here, eh?” He pressed his point. _And who’s to say tenacity and perseverance won’t pay off?  Constant dripping wears away the stone and all that_ , he told himself.

 

“Doubtful, Malfoy. If the spell was triggered by your Christmas wish for me—wait a second! You said your wish was for me to be tied up in a red silk bow under your tree.”

 

“That’s what I said,” he replied, not sure where Granger was going with her train of thought. “Just you and—”

 

“But you never said anything about me naked,” she exclaimed triumphantly.

 

“I thought it was implied,” he said mildly. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” he asked, pretty certain the way out had to do with her fulfilling his wish in some manner or other. Her being naked would have been a bonus.

 

“If you mean am I thinking about me being naked, then the answer’s no,” she retorted, though he could detect a slight note of regret in it.

 

_Ah, well, there goes that fantasy. For now._

 

“But, if you’re thinking to search the kitchen to see if there’s some ribbon or something we could use, then yes, we’re thinking the same thing.” She nodded her head to emphasise her point. She scrambled out of his arms and practically ran to the kitchen.

 

Draco sat there for a few seconds, trying to decide if he should feel upset and irritated that the woman he’d given his best toe-curling kiss to— _Hell, it curled his toes!_ —could just leap up and rush away without a backward glance or happy that she had a plan to get them out of the cottage.  A plan that involved ribbons.He sighed. He decided on happy. If he’d read the situation correctly, Granger returned his sentiments.

 

He got up and walked towards the kitchen. At least life with Granger would never be boring. Kept him on his toes she did.

 

*

 

“Right,” Hermione said nervously, fingering the red tinsel she’d tied somewhat crookedly and haphazardly around her neck in an attempt at a bow. Their search in the kitchens had not turned up anything and the closed door actually led to a tiny loo, also devoid of anything useful other than some towels and a bar of soap.

 

Hermione had reluctantly used the scratchy material instead.

 

Malfoy had given her a sceptical look and then remarked in that insufferable drawl of his that it was no wonder her hair always looked like a hurricane had torn through it. But then, he’d stolen a quick kiss right after that and she’d decided to forgive him. She saw it for the distraction it was, but who was she to complain? Malfoy was a terrific kisser.

 

She stood next to the Christmas tree and held onto Malfoy’s hand. Her attempt to Disapparate didn’t work. “Why is it not working?”

 

“Maybe you should sit under the Christmas tree,” he suggested, lowering himself to the ground and tugging to get her to join him.

 

She nodded and sat down, sliding closer to him. Nothing happened and her renewed attempts at Disapparition were still not working.

 

Huffing a breath of frustration, she turned to Malfoy. “I was so sure it would work.”

 

“Shall we try getting you naked and shouting ‘ _Merry Christmas, Draco’_?” he asked hopefully.

 

Her eyes lit up. “That’s it!” Grabbing his hands, she said, “Merry Christmas, Draco,” and leaned in to kiss him.  It took him a second to react. As soon as his hands wrapped around hers and her tongue touched his, the room started spinning in that all-too-familiar, nauseating whirl.

 

 

*

**_Harry Potter’s Christmas Party_ **

**_Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place_ **

 

The oddly shaped package stood out amidst the other gaily wrapped gifts on the long table set aside for that very purpose in a corner of the big living room of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. It had a flat, thick base, and a round top, rather like a globe affixed to sturdy piece of wood. The wrapper was extremely eye-catching: little yellow ducks wearing Santa hats carrying iridescent pink balloons scattered across a bright green background. It was quirky at best, though an objective observer would have called it an eye-sore, especially when compared to the other presents available. It was neatly and tidily wrapped, however, as if the giver had put a lot of effort into picking the gift and its wrapper.

 

A little gift tag was stuck onto it at a jaunty angle.

 

*

 

Malfoy and Granger had arrived together at the party and had contrived to be caught under the mistletoe several times throughout the night. They had, to the gleeful surprise of the other party-goers, been conspicuously absent thereafter for the majority of the night, though they had returned in time to exchange gifts with the others, holding hands and looking happy. It was obvious to the others what they had been up to: Hermione was starry-eyed and Draco insufferably smug yet oddly attentive to Hermione.

 

The other guests had thrown them knowing looks and, other than one or two raised eyebrows, had settled around the host as he started distributing the presents collected there.

 

*

 

Luna smiled at Hermione as she held up her present from the latter, its wrapper neatly folded on the chair beside her.

 

“Oh, Hermione,” she said, “how did you know I’ve always wanted one of these?”

 

Hermione shrugged, smiling and happy she finally got Luna something the other woman _really_ liked.

 

“And the wrapper—it’s unique,” Luna went one, fingering the brightly-coloured paper. Hermione thought it was rather garish, but she knew the colour combination would appeal to Luna’s rather quirky tastes.

 

“There’s this shop,” Hermione began, “over in Diagon Alley, you see…”

 

*

“Merry Christmas, Draco,” Gregory Goyle said as he pumped Draco’s hand. It never failed to surprise Draco that Potter and Greg had actually become friends over the years, but there you had it. Stranger things have happened: like him and Granger.

 

Draco nodded at one of his oldest friends, feeling certain he’d given him one of the best presents ever. After all the trouble he’d been through—

 

“How did you know I’ve been collecting these since I was a kid?” Greg asked, turning his present from Draco over in his hands, lightly shaking it. His eyes opened in wonder at the result, and he gave a choked laugh.

 

Draco grinned. “You remember that old shop in Diagon Alley? Next to Potage’s…”

 

***

 

**Author's Note:**

> Kelterment: (noun) Junk, rubbish, litter
> 
> Snicket: a passageway between walls or fences
> 
> Kitab Al-Sihr: The Book of Magic
> 
> And because I am a big Avengers (the 2012 movie, that is), I couldn't help but sneak in the following lines:  
> “Reminds me of Budapest.”
> 
> “You and I have very different memories of Budapest.”


End file.
